


Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Fried

by The_Winter_Straw



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Explicit Language, F/M, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 11:42:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18590560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Winter_Straw/pseuds/The_Winter_Straw
Summary: All old flames grow cold eventually–Excepting, of course, yours.





	Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Fried

**Author's Note:**

> Another old fic trade response, this one from later in 2016. The prompt was "Don't make my job too easy~ ;)" but I had a wide open field for the character it was about. I went with Rumlow because I'd been wanting to write something for him for ages. I still have an old 20 chapter outline of a darker romance (lust?) fic for him and the reader in my giant accordion of important financial documents and writing scraps.

You awoke with a start in complete darkness with one hell of a headache pounding through your skull. Where you were and how you’d got to wherever that was you didn’t know, but it didn’t feel like you’d come along willingly. A multitude of invisible cuts stung up and down your body; your stomach felt as though it had had its contents _punched_ out of it recently; and maybe you couldn’t see to confirm this but you were pretty sure your left eye was swollen shut. Worst of all, every cell inside of you felt dry and hot and buzzy–as if you’d spent the evening before playing test subject for a new line of Tasers. But what _had_ happened mattered very little in comparison to your present predicament. You could catalog injuries once you were definitely safe. 

It didn’t take long for you to decide that your current location wasn’t that. Straining your ears, you heard nothing. No hum of electricity. No faint whir of a security camera. No chattering from anyone keeping guard. Eerie, you thought, until you decided to stand up… 

…and found your arms clamped tightly to a couple of armrests. You had not realized that you were sitting down in an actual chair until you were unable to lift your wrists. Try as you might, no matter what angle you used, the restraints wouldn’t budge. Your ankles were in a similar state. Gritting your teeth, you mentally prepared to dislocate the bones. Nothing you hadn't done before, but never a _pleasant_ prospect. On the count of three. Three...two– 

“Good morning,” came a deep voice from another corner of the room, “sweetheart.” 

The sudden appearance of someone in your cell was not what caused you to freeze. No, you only stopped your attempts to get loose because you _recognized_ the voice’s tenor. You squinted into the dark. Still you could hear no breathing, see nothing further than the pitch black two inches from your nose. But then again, this man _should_ have been a ghost. 

“Brock?” you asked, voice raspy. Sounded (and felt) like you'd been smacked in the trachea, too. 

A rumble of laughter answered you, but no footsteps. “I don’t go by that name anymore. But it’s good to hear you haven’t forgotten me entirely. Thought you might have, the way you’ve been treating me.” 

Those three sentences were all it took to force the shock out of your system and flood it instead with frustration and anger. You clenched your fists into useless balls, rattling your cuffs as you did. “I haven’t been treating you _any_ way. Not since INSIGHT. Not since HYDRA.” 

You were glaring in the direction from which Brock’s voice had issued, but still you could see no sign of him. Wherever you were, there were no windows. He had to be there, though; you hadn’t heard him move away or out. Sure enough, when he spoke again, he sounded close by: “Don’t pretend that you leaving had anything to do with either of those.” 

“Oh yeah? And why else would I leave you? Because you’re such a wonderful person, I’d be a fool not to stay?” 

This time, the silence that stretched out after your final sentence lasted long enough for you to start wondering if Brock really was in there with you. He always did know how to stay silent and still–a boon working as the head of STRIKE–but even _he_ had to shift sometimes, even he had to _breathe_. Maybe he had an intercom rigged up. You tried to hold your breath to listen for him again to no avail. Then you _did_ hear a breath, a long, rattling almost laugh. 

“Oh, I don’t know.” A click sounded just before the room was flooded with light. Your eyes snapped shut to avoid the pain that surged through your already throbbing head for what little good that did. “How about _this_?” 

It took you a few seconds to force your eyelids back open. Sure enough, your left would hardly move. Through what remained of your field of vision, you could not see much through the sudden haze of light–not much outside of a dark shape in the corner of the huge room, that was. You blinked, and the figure came into focus: a dark-haired man sitting against a wall of security deposit boxes, and wearing thick, dark armor. As soon as your gaze reached his face, Brock grinned. 

“Normally I wear the mask.” He stood, gesturing to a helmet sitting by his feet. It, too, was black, but with a skull blasted across its face in white paint. Then Brock kicked the mask to the side and strode purposely over to where you were clamped to the chair. “But I don’t need to wear it for you. No secrets between us, [Name]. Isn’t that right?” 

Up close, you could see his features better even through your damaged eye. However you looked, you definitely looked better than Brock. His face was a twisted mass of reddened flesh. As you took his new appearance in, he drew closer, leering down at you. You shrank away, but all this did was make him chuckle. 

“I thought so. Couldn’t stand to be with someone so ugly, could you?” 

You swallowed thickly. “I didn’t see that before I left.” 

Brock laughed again. “You’re a damn shitty liar. Always have been. You think I didn’t know? You think I was deaf and dumb under all those bandages? You think I had _any_ delusions that my girl would stay by my side after Captain America _demolished a building on top of my fucking face_?!” His voice rose in volume and intensity, and with each sentence, he thrust himself further into your personal space. You made yourself stay in place, though your heaving chest betrayed your fears. 

“I left because you were working with HYDRA, Brock,” you said, willing your voice to stay even. “Because I don’t want to be with a terrorist–” 

“Terrorist!” he shouted, and for one blessed moment he stepped away from you. Unfortunately, he was soon back and closer than ever, his nose practically pressed to your own. “I’m a mercenary, sweetheart. I work for the highest bidder, and don’t pretend you’re not just the same as me.” 

“I’m _not_ like you. I don’t work for HYDRA. I don’t work for SHIELD. I’m doing real work, good work, with the–” 

“With the Avengers. Yeah. I heard.” 

Despite his claims to have already known about your present employment, Brock appeared put off by the news. He turned away from you, pressed his hand to his mouth, and shook his head. You took advantage of his distraction to again attempt to get at least one hand out of your shackles. Too bad they seemed to be made for someone much, much stronger than you. And then Brock was back, smiling so widely that his eyes turned to half-moons inside their scarred lids. 

“I was good to you, wasn’t I? Brought you flowers, like a good boyfriend. Took you out for dinner. Walked you home from work, cuddled with you at night, bought your goddamn _tampons_! And what did it get me? What good did any of that do?” 

To that, you had no proper response. All you could do was stare, captivity momentarily forgotten in the light of the dawning realization that your ex-boyfriend had gone completely insane. Yes, Brock had done all of those things for you, for years. You had been happy with him for all those years. You had thought you’d been lucky to be with the guy that headed STRIKE, one of SHIELD’S golden boys, the most handsome man in the whole organization. All the same: “I don’t date Nazis,” you snarled. 

“Is that what you think I was? A Nazi?” Brock shook his head, but then seemed to drop the subject, his mind wandering as his dark eyes traveled up above your head. “Never let the higher ups take you in, either. Wasn’t like they didn’t want to. Good enough to be an Avenger, Agent [Name]. Could’ve had you conditioned by someone who knew what they were doing, and we would have never been in this mess.” 

“What mess?” you asked, if only to keep Brock talking. A little further, and you thought you might have a chance of dislocating your wrist just enough to slip out of Brock’s restraints. 

Brock said nothing. 

“Brock,” you said once more, “what mess?” 

He seemed to only then remember you were there. His eyes drew slowly down until he was staring right into yours, seemingly oblivious to your desire to get free. “Tell me you still love me, [Name],” he said, sounding almost normal. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Tell me you still love me,” he repeated. “Tell me you still love me, and none of this has to happen.” 

“None of _what_ has to happen?” 

“Just _tell me_ that you’ll take me back! The rest of it doesn’t matter. Just tell me that you still love me!” 

You mustered all of your energy, looked Brock dead in the eye, and spat in his disgusting face. He froze. “The man I fell in love with was just that–a _man._ ,” you said breathlessly. “What are you? Some burnt shell, that’s all that left. Not even enough courage to take me on face to face. You’re pathe–” 

One thickly gloved hand shot out viper-fast and put your jaw in a vice grip. Brock’s lips pulled back into a snarl that gave way to another laugh that raised the hairs on the back of your neck. “Careful, [Name]. I brought you here to kill you. Don’t make my job too easy.” He winked, a gesture that you did not return. His smile faded as his fingers gripped your chin even tighter. “Either you’re leaving here mine, or you ain’t leaving here at all.” 

“And what is that supposed to mean? You’ve been babbling since you got me here. Tell me what your plan is, if you’re so proud of it,” you said. 

He considered you for a long moment–too long. Your jaw ached; you could feel the his fingers pressing bruises into your skin. At last, he released you, then gestured up to where he had been looking only a few minutes before. “You’re sittin’ in a _real_ special chair, darling,” he said as your own eyes traveled upward. Your heart gave a great thud as you realized _exactly_ where you were. You’d seen the Winter Soldier’s files, and unless you could get out of there, you were screwed. 

“Brock–” 

“See, this here bank’s a front for HYDRA,” Brock went on as though he couldn’t hear you. Who knew? He was far gone enough that maybe he couldn’t. “But they dropped it like a hot potato after Rogers fucked over Project INSIGHT. Once upon a time, they used to strap Cap’s old war buddy into this and fry the living daylights out of his skull. Only saw it done a few times myself, but how hard could it be?” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

His new, predatory smile returned. “Wouldn’t I? How do you know I haven’t already done it? That’s what this setup is for, after all. Memory loss. And I want you back pretty damn bad.” 

He had a good point. Your head definitely felt like it had been put through the ringer–but unless a lot more time had passed than your body could account for, you still had all your memories. In fact, you had enough memories to know that you weren’t about to beg this man for your life. 

“You’re not going to get away with this,” you said in as dangerous a voice as you could muster. Brock ignored you, walking over to where a very obvious lever had been installed near your chair. Before you could say anything more, he pulled it, and your chair– _Bucky’s_ chair–shifted slowly backwards. The mechanism above your head jolted to life, then drifted down toward your head. Only then did Brock answer you: 

“Who’s gonna come for you? SHIELD? Don’t make me laugh. They know about us. They’ll think you were in on it all along. A Nazi terrorist, just like you said. Always spouting the company line. And the Avengers?” Here he _did_ laugh. “Think they got better things to care about than where you slipped off to in the middle of the night. Never got in the habit of staying in one place too long, did you?” 

He was right. He was right, and what was worse, begging was beginning to seem a better and better option the longer the whirring in the chair went on. You rattled your wrists, rattled your ankles, arched your back to strain with all your strength against your bonds, but nothing moved or loosened. Of course it didn’t. This machine was built for a super soldier. What were you compared to Bucky Barnes? Brock Rumlow’s haunting laugh started up again in nearby. His hand reached out to press your shoulder back _hard_ against the backrest. 

“Don’t worry so much, [Name],” he said. “I might not have the finesse to pick and choose what you forget, but it’ll all be over soon either way. When you wake up, we’ll either be back together or–well, you’ll believe that we are when I tell you. I’ve got big plans for us. Real big plans.” 

You opened your mouth to retort. How, you didn’t really know–but any _possibility_ of a retort vanished the very next second. All that came out of your lips was a scream as the surge of electricity from HYDRA’s brainwashing device slammed into your head. You opened your mouth again, and let out another scream. Brock chuckled one last time before he gave your shoulder a final squeeze. 

“Welcome back to the dream team, [Name],” he said, but Brock Rumlow had vanished from your thoughts. The whole world had vanished from your thoughts. If you weren’t lucky, neither of them were ever coming back. Everything from there on out was pain and order, order and pain. 

* * *


End file.
